To Please a Woman
by EastAnglia
Summary: VANITY FAIR 1998 . Dobbin smutfic. WARNING! ADULT CONTENT!


**TITLE: **"To Please a Woman"**  
FANDOM:** Vanity Fair (1998)  
**PAIRING:** Dobbin/Becky  
**GENRE:** Het smut – Regency style  
**RATING: **M/NC-17  
**NOTES: **Not sure where this came from! Another stab at smut, this time with Dobbin. Takes place immediately after George Osborne's death at the Battle of Waterloo, while they are all still in Belgium. Probably a one-shot, unless Dobbin decides to show Amelia what he has learned! ;-)

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_I will never love another._

She had said those words when she finally agreed to see him later that day. Her fine porcelain skin was set off by the sombre widow's dress she wore. She had sobbed with inconsolable grief, and he longed to take her in his arms and cover her face with kisses and tell her he would make everything all right. But she had only whispered those words – _I will never love another_ – in a broken voice and fled from the room.

He ached for her, but now he sat alone in his lodgings, finding that no amount of drink could dull that ache.

He had poured himself yet another glass and had raised it to his lips when he heard a noise from the corridor outside his room. He strained to hear it, and then there was a faint knocking. For a hopeful moment, he thought it might be Amelia, coming to him for the comfort he wanted so desperately to give her, but then he heard the voice, and his heart dropped.

"Are you there. Capt. Dobbin? It's Becky."

He rose unsteadily from the table and stumbled to the door. When he opened it, Becky Crawley stood in the corridor. She was wearing an emerald green gown, and she was leaning forward slightly at the waist with her hand against the door, drawing his eye down to the swell of her alabaster breasts. He swallowed hard. "Mrs. Crawley…"

She smiled up at him and waited for him to speak again, but he didn't. "Aren't you going to ask me in, Dobbin?"

"You're a married woman, Mrs. Crawley. And you are unchaperoned."

She let out a bell-like peal of laughter and slipped past him into his room. "Alone with Capt. Dobbin in his lodgings. How _will_ my honour survive?"

He thought for a moment that he should ask her to go, but he found himself closing the door on the corridor, and he watched as she turned in a circle around his tiny lodgings. There was a bed, a wardrobe, and a small writing table, underneath which an empty bottle had been carelessly dropped. The jacket of his uniform had been hung at some point on the back of his chair, but it now lay on the floor.

She watched as he stood by the doorway in his untucked shirt, trousers, and boots, his arms hanging awkwardly at his sides.

"Poor Dobbin," she said in a sing-songy voice. He silently crossed and re-filled his glass from the half-empty bottle on the table.

"What do you want, Mrs. Crawley?"

"Where are your manners, sir?" she said in mock offence. "Were you not going to offer me a drink?"

She looked up at him through a fringe of auburn hair, her eyes lowered, one corner of her lip pulled up into a smile. He stood motionless, but then filled an empty glass and crossed the floor to her. She eyed him over the rim of the glass and then drained half of it in a single swallow.

"Poor, poor Dobbin. And poor little Emmy, too." His head snapped up at the mention of her name, as Becky rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "She's better off without that self-absorbed booby, I should think."

"Have you no respect, Mrs. Crawley? My oldest friend, Mrs. Osborne's husband, lies dead on the battlefield. Allow us to mourn him with some dignity."

Becky threw back her head with a laugh. She crossed slowly to him and laid a hand in the center of his chest. He flinched, but he did not withdraw. "Oh, come now, Dobbin. There's no need to pretend with me. We both know what you're _really_ mourning. You're mourning the fact that Amelia is finally free to love you, but you can't compete with the memory of that vain fool."

"He was a good man!"

"He was a pompous ass."

Dobbin said nothing, but after a moment, he turned from her and drained the rest of his glass. She slid her emptied glass across the table to him, and he refilled them both. As she sipped at hers, she turned a small circle around him, her eyes running up and down his body. "You're not a bad looking fellow in your own way, now that I look at you. Tall. Sturdy. Lovely, long legs. And your eyes…I can't tell if they're blue or if they're silver. It's really quite mesmerising." He could feel himself blush, but he could not turn away from her. She went on in a low murmur. "Some day Amelia will want to marry again, and she could do far worse than you, Dobbin." She tilted her head back with an assessing look, and a slow half-smile spread again across her crimson lips. "Yes. Not a bad looking fellow at all."

"He isn't even in his grave! How can you speak of such things?" he said with the outrage he knew was expected of him, but he felt a small, secret swell of pride at her appraisal. "Besides. Amelia will never marry again. She has told me so."

Becky laughed again. "Nonsense. Amelia Osborne is still a young woman. She has known the pleasures of a marriage bed. She won't forsake that forever."

"Mrs. Crawley…" he started in mild protest, but he found he could not speak.

Becky turned and walked slowly across the floor away from him, her hips undulating under her emerald gown. "Mind you, I'm not sure how pleasurable it would have been. Not with George Osborne." She said his name with contempt. "He was too much in love with himself to ever really now how to please a woman."

She watched as Dobbin flushed scarlet and raised his glass to his lips with a trembling hand. She crossed back to him and stood close enough to feel the heat rise from him. He did not move but dropped his eyes away from hers. She smelled of spice and cloves; it was intoxicating.

"Have you ever been with a woman, Dobbin?" she purred in a low, throaty whisper.

"Of course," he said after a beat, his voice rough.

"Oh, I don't mean obliging dairy maids. Have you ever taken a mistress, William? A _lover_?"

He said nothing, and after a pause, she took his glass from his hands and placed it next to hers on the little table. She returned her hand to the center of his chest, and he shivered under her fingertips.

"I can show you what a woman like Amelia wants." She stood on her toes, her mouth next to his ear. "Would you like that, William?"

"No, I would not, Mrs. Crawley. Your conduct disgusts me," he said without conviction.

She let out another teasing laugh as her hand slipped down his chest to his thigh. Her fingers played at the knot that strained against the buttons of his breeches. "I don't think I disgust you at all, William. Quite the opposite, I'd say."

He wanted to pull away from her, to call for her husband, but his feet would not move from under him. He closed his eyes and let out a soft, unbidden moan as she slipped her hand inside his breeches and found his stiffening length.

"I can show you how to please a woman, William. Someday, you could make her forget all about George Osborne. Would you like that?" He opened his eyes again and looked down at her. She had tilted her head back, her lips slightly parted as her fingers coaxed him to an erection. He nodded at her mutely, and her scarlet mouth curled into a seductive smile. "Kiss me, William."

He did as he was told and willingly lowered his face to hers. Her mouth was soft and ripe and she yielded to him as his tongue parted her lips and flicked against her teeth. He slipped his arms around her waist, and she curled into him, moving a leg between his.

"Undress me," she whispered into his mouth, and he moved up from her waist to her back, fumbling with the buttons of her dress, as he silently cursed his big, clumsy hands. "Slowly," she whispered again. "Make me wait."

He slowed his pace, nipping at her lower lip and then moving along her jaw to her lobe. He pulled at the buttons one by one, and they came undone with a satisfying pop until, fingers trembling, he pushed the gown from her shoulders.

He reached up to untie the drawstring of her chemise, but she shook her head with a sly smile and took a step away from him. She lifted her graceful hands to the rise of her breasts and pulled at the string, and he watched with a quickening pulse as the muslin shift fell to the floor. She was wearing a corseted bodice underneath, and she turned and walked slowly to the end of his bed, hips swaying enticingly. She leaned over, gripping the end of footboard with her hands and beckoning him over with a raised eyebrow.

He stumbled to her, pulling impatiently at the laces until the garment dropped away and all of her underthings lay on the floor. She was naked now, faced away from him, with her deep auburn curls spilling down her back. She raised her chin over her shoulder to him. "Take me, William."

He fumbled at his own buttons and sprang free of his trousers, moving against her and placing his hands on her waist. He slipped inside her in one stroke; she moaned in an exhaled breath and arched her back as he pumped against her in erratic thrusts.

His hands reached up and cupped her breasts. It was dizzying; he felt himself unable to last, but then she pulled away and spun around, wrapping one leg around him, and the new sensation caused him to slow his rhythm.

Suddenly, she stopped and pushed him back hard with two hands on his shoulders. He looked at her, breathless and confused, but she only moved round to the side of his bed and knelt there, beckoning him with a crooked finger. "Come here."

He licked his lips nervously and crossed to her. She tugged at the hem of his shirt, and he pulled it the rest of the way over his head as she ran her hands down his smooth chest and pulled his trousers from his hips. "Oh, my, William," she purred, taking his full length in her hand.

Balancing against the head board, he quickly pulled his boots off and let his trousers fall into a pile at the side of the bed. Her eyes traveled across his body appreciatively, and she slowly reclined on the bed. Her hair spilled out across the pillow and she lifted her arms above her head.

He looked down at this strange, alluring creature in his bed. She was wicked, wanton. He should despise her. But she was bewitching and beautiful, with her inviting mouth and exquisite ivory breasts, and he knew he was powerless to resist her.

He lowered himself onto the bed, straddling her naked form with his knees and dropping his mouth against hers. She moaned his name, pulling him down to her, as his lips moved down the curve of her neck to her breasts. "Yes, William," she said in an approving sigh as his lips and teeth teased gently at her nipples, pulling them to a stiff peak. "Yesss. Let me feel your mouth."

His eyes widened; he could feel her grind her hips against him. She took one of his hands and placed it against her moist folds. It was strange and exciting, the mystery of a woman's sex. Her knees dropped open for him, and he moved down lower, his heart skittering in anticipation, across the soft skin of her belly to the triangle of thick curls. He parted her folds with his tongue and a soft moan urged him on. "Mmmm. That's it, William. Yessss."

Her hands reached down and stroked at his hair as his tongue flicked across her swollen bud. She lifted her hips, meeting his mouth with an encouraging whimper, as he drew in her dark, exotic scent. He worked at her, lapping at her, and bringing her toward climax with his tongue as she writhed beneath him

"I want you…inside me," she finally said in a ragged breath. "Now. Please."

He drew himself to his knees, lifting her up by the thighs and entering her welcoming body in a swift stroke. She cried out as he drove into her with urgent, rhythmic thrusts, growing in intensity as she bucked against him.

"Yes, William…so close…wait for me."

Her eyes fluttered shut. Her breathing was coming in quickened gasps, and then he could see the pink flush across her checks, down her neck and breasts as she threw her head back and let out a low, throaty cry. He could feel her contracting and releasing around him, and with a final thrust, he emptied into her, meeting her cry with a guttural moan ripped from deep in his chest.

He collapsed on top of her, shivering at the feel of her body against his. Spent, he rolled away onto his back as she lay breathlessly next to him for a moment, and then she rose from the bed and began to retrieve her things from the floor.

"What will we do now?" he asked her as she pulled her dress over her head.

She only smiled back at him and lifted a finger to her lips. "We'll never speak of this, of course, Dobbin. It's our secret."

He sat up in bed and pulled the sheet across him, drawing his mouth down into a frown. "I'm sorry…I…we shouldn't have…" he stammered and looked away.

She gave him a click of the tongue and crossed back to his bedside, dropping a fond kiss onto his forehead. "You've nothing to feel sorry or ashamed about. Emmy need never know of this."

He watched as she slipped on her shoes and opened the door. The light from the corridor spilled inside, and she turned to him before leaving. She smiled and arched an eyebrow. "You'll make Emmy a very happy girl some day, Dobbin."

And then she was gone.

He lay for a long time in the dark, melancholy room. He thought of her, his Amelia, her angelic face stained with tears over the loss of George. It was hopeless. He would never hold her in the dark, breathless and spent from the pleasures of their marriage bed.

But perhaps Becky was right. Perhaps she _would_ love again.

He closed his eyes and thought of Amelia's naked form where Becky's had been. He heard her voice saying his name, taking him in her hands, moaning beneath him as his mouth covered her body.

A slow smile spread across his face. He rolled onto his side and drifted off into a contented sleep.


End file.
